Simon Lyndon

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One of the more annoying trends in recent cinema is the glorification of violence, making the depraved and nihilistic seem as cool as a pair of mirror sunglasses. Fact is, most sociopathic killers, drug pushers, thieves and outlaws are unimaginative morons who stumble through their pathetic lot doling out cycles of violence to break up the boredom. Full of flawed, stylistic overdrive, Chopper doesn't make the numerous onscreen shootings and stabbings look remotely cool.

Which is not to say that the central character isn't delighted by his own supposed carnage -- Australia's prime cut of criminal splendor Mark "Chopper" Read revels in his own self-deluding mythology. The smartest thing about writer-director Andrew Dominik's elliptical biopic is to acknowledge that ol' Chopper spins unrealistic tall tales about his bloody escapades. "Never let the truth get in the way of a good story," he giggles. This notorious creep wrote a series of best-selling memoirs exploiting his tale of smashing the living piss out of his cellmates, fellow underworld denizens, floozy girlfriends, and whoever else was unlucky enough to get in his way. How much of it was fantasy is anyone's guess.